Insanity
by TheTimelordTourist
Summary: Charles Brown has been checked in to a mental hospital. He's clinically depressed-who isn't? But the pamphlets never said anything about making friends, roommates with secrets, thrilling riots, schizophrenic blonds, and even a way out... On Hiatus 02/26/13
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Insanity**

**Full Descript**: Charles Brown has checked in to a mental hospital specifically for treating teenage mental illnesses. He's clinically depressed-who isn't? But the pamphlets never said anything about making friends, roommates with secrets, thrilling riots, schizophrenic blonds, and maybe even a way out.

**A/N: Remember, this is an AU. The kids have never met, aside from the family relationships. Sally and CB's relationship will be explained later. Also, don't expect every chapter to be this long! I was surprised how long this actually turned out. Well ,enjoy.**

According to his files, Charlie Brown is clinically depressed. It's an idiotic term, he thinks. What does 'clinically' even mean in this context. He may be sad at some times, but never depressed. He just sometimes gets really down, and the world starts to sink, and he can't even manage to crawl out of bed-

Yeah, he's depressed.

His current therapist, Mrs.'Call Me Sarah' Kinney recommended to his mother that he should be going to the Ohio Youth Mental Hospital. The name sounds like it's a freaking YMCA.

Another thing about Charlie Brown is that he has a sense of humor. At least, he thinks so. It's what's keeping him from collapsing into a nervous breakdown as he enters the front doors of the asylum-ahem, hospital. The walls are much too clean. You could see your reflection in the floor. The plants are all fake, and the receptionist so much as bites your head off if you do more then breathe loudly. After a few tearful goodbye hugs from his dad, He was taken into his first private therapy session with a doctor, which was the 'initiation' of sorts. Everyone had to have this session before he could meet his new roommate and go to group therapy.

He was ushered into a claustrophobically small room, and the walls were a ill beige color. The doctor twitches his mustache, and speaks in short sentences.

"You're Charles," Doc says, eyes sweeping over him.

"So they tell me," he says jokingly. The doctor is unamused. Crap, if his therapist doesn't have a sense of humor, then he was doomed.

"Why are you here, Charles?" he asks. Ah, the typical question. Like the don't already know.

"Apparently I'm clinically depressed," Charlie Brown says.

"Are you?"

"I guess."

"You guess? So you're not sure?" Man, this guy is a douche. Thereby earning the name Dr. Douche from now on.

"I'm clinically depressed," He says confidentially. Dr. Douche nods, and continues to ask inane questions, like "What do you dream about?" and "Do you have many friends?"

Then he's shown his new room. It has two beds, and one window. With bars on it. Like a prison. It makes him feel even more nervous, stomach sinking down to the floor. The only redeeming feature of the room is the shiny black piano in one corner. They present him with his backpack.

"Here's your stuff. To comply with hospital rules, some items have been removed," one of the nurses says.

"Like what?" he asks, digging through his bag.

"Your cell phone, your iPod, and various belts and watches that have sharp attachments that may be harmful."

This was going from worse to horrendous. Without his iPod, he would probably become even more depressed. His breathing gets heavier, and he clutches a bed post.

"Your roommate will be coming back to lunch in ten minutes. Get settled," the nurse continues, oblivious to his panic attack. She leaves, closing the door behind her. He notices with chagrin that there's no lock on the door. Speaking of doors, there's no door to the bathroom. It's just an archway. Meaning he was going to have to pee without a door. How bad can this place get? He shuffles into the bathroom and splashes water on his face, trying to calm himself down. He looks at himself in the mirror, seeing if he's really there. A stubble is growing on his chin, and he has some food in his teeth, but other than that, he's fine. Perfectly fine.

In a physical sense, of course.

Emotionally, he was freaking out. He was going to be living here forever, until he gets un-depressed. He wanted to scream and run, but he locked his jaw firmly in place. He will not be a disappointment to his father. He will get better.

Right?

"Hello, anyone here?" a voice asks, opening the door with a knock.

"Uh...me?" he says tentatively.

"Who's me?" the voice asks, coming into the bathroom. "Oh," it says. A boy is in the doorway. His hair is a mop of wild curls, but short. His eyebrows are kind of thick, but Charlie Brown is really paying attention to the relaxed smile that he's flashing. The boy sticks out a hand to shake. "Hi, I'm Schroeder. You must be the new roommate."

"I'm Charlie Brown. At least, that's what they tell me," he says, shaking the hand. Schroeder laughs, and Charlie Brown relaxes a bit. Thankfully someone isn't so uptight in this place.

"Welcome to the Youth Asylum," Schroeder says. "That's what we all call it here. Or just the Asylum, for short."

"Cool, I guess," he says. He sticks his hands in his pocket.

"Sit," Schroeder says, gesturing to the beds. Charlie Brown slowly sits indian style on top of the covers. He begins to take off his shoes, but stops when Schroeder visibly flinches.

"Uh, can you not take off your shoes?" Schroeder asks. "It's kind of a thing for me." He gives an awkward laugh.

"Sure." Charlie Brown shrugs, and puts them back on. "Is that why you're here?"

"For a foot phobia? As if." Schroeder laughs some more. Charlie Brown wants to ask why he _is _there then, but he figures it would be too nosy, him knowing this guy for about two minutes. "Ready for group therapy?" he asks.

"What's group therapy?" Charlie Brown asks.

"It's where all of the teens, there's about 20 or so of us, sit in a circle and talk about our feelings," Schroeder explains.

"Sounds kind of..." He searched for the right words.

"Lame?" Schroeder offers. "Totally. But as long as you don't cuss or throw any chairs, you get points."

His eyes widen at that. "People throw chairs?"

"Not all the time. But there's this chick named Peppermint Patty. She's pretty cool most of the time, but her 'talks' can get pretty violent."

"Wow."

"Yep. But it's not all bad. About once a week, we have something called 'song therapy', where we all get together and sing and stuff. It helps us relax or something."

"Just don't touch anyone," he says. When he raises an eyebrow, Schroeder elaborates. "There are a lot of rules here. But one of the main ones is that no one is allowed to touch each other. Not even accidentally. If you do, you lose major points and get a 'detention'."

"What are points?" He asks. This is all getting seriously confusing.

"All in good time," Schroeder says, and starts to get up. "But right now, it's group therapy time."

The group therapy room is actually quite big, despite the other rooms in this place. It consists of a circle of bright blue plastic chairs, and a lot of motivational posters on the wall. Apparently, there's different levels in this hospital. Young children, pre-teens, and teenagers. He's a teenager, obviously, and he can only have therapy sessions and interact with other teenagers. He'd rather play with a seven year old psycho then a seventeen year old babbling brook, but here they are. Other people shuffle in, and take a seat randomly.

There's a girl with long black hair that gives him a look that's thoroughly terrifying, her fingers linked with those of a blonde girl who looks very lost, and a redhead who chattering almost nonstop to the person beside her. There are varying degrees of other kids, but it would take a month to list them all and their odd quirks. Besides, the therapist comes in to start. She's fairly young, and has a bouncing brown ponytail and kind glasses. She calls herself Dr. Kale.

"Welcome everyone," she says, looking around the room. "Today we have a new member, Charles Brown." People nod and say hello, but are mostly bored. "Charles, can you introduce yourself for me?"

He grudgingly stands up, clearing his throat. "I'm Charlie Brown. I'm sixteen." He begins to sit back down, but the therapist stops him.

"Why are you here?" she asks.

"Well, I, uh," he starts, stuttering uncontrollably. Several people snicker, and Dr. Kale shush them. She gives him an encouraging smile, and her teeth are sparkling bright. "I'm here because I'm depressed and stuff. But I like music. I think I just started to get really bummed out at one point, and it started to consume me, and eventually..." All of the emotions that have started to build up in the past few months are threatening to spill, and he quickly sits back down before he could start crying or something. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice his little freak-out. He tries to swallow the huge lump in his throat, but he ends up coughing. Really loudly.

"Very good. Now, who can explain the first thing we do here in Group Therapy?" she asks, looking around the circle. The redhead he noticed earlier eagerly raises her hand. Dr. Kale calls on her.

"We start with I Like, I Dislike, where we say something that we liked today, and something we didn't like," she says promptly, then smiles. She has perfect teeth, too. Maybe they all have the same dentist.

"Good job, Freida," Dr. Kale says. "Would you like to start?"

"Certainly," Freida says, beaming. "I liked the meal that was served in the cafeteria today. I didn't like my roommate calling me a condescending bitch. It was rude."

"I only called you a condescending bitch because you are one, you bitch," Another girl pipes up.

"Violet, no interrupting," Dr. Kale says. "Why don't you go next?" she asks Violet.

"Fine," Violet says, pursing her lips. "I like how hot Shermy's muscles looked today," she says, glancing at a boy with a dark crew-cut. That earns some wolf-whistles from the group. Dr. Kale shushes them again.

"Violet, we don't approve of any sexual remarks in this area," Dr. Kale scolds.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Anyways, I _dislike _any words that comes from Frieda's mouth."

"Funny coming from you, Violet!" Freida says. "There's isn't anything that hasn't been _in _your mouth." That pulls up a round of 'oooo's from everyone. Including Charlie Brown. For therapy, this is becoming extremely entertaining.

"Damn, things are getting rough!" one of the girls says.

"Girls, girls!" Dr. Kale says. "Calm down!" Both girls scoffed and looked away. Dr. Kale takes a heaving breath. "Who's next!"

"I like that there's another new kid in here," the girl pipes up. "I dislike that he's depressed, though." Charlie Brown smiles for a second, before Schroeder elbows him. Hard.

"What was that for?" He asks in a low whisper.

"I'll tell you later," Schroeder mouths.

"I like Violet's outfit today," another girl says, pointing at the Violet's outfit. The girl herself is wearing a nice dress and a matching bow in her hair. "I dislike the new kid's shoes, though."

Charlie Brown looks down at his shoes. He doesn't see anything wrong with them, just dirty sneakers.

"I like that Schroeder has a new roommate," A boy clutching a blanket says. "I disliked getting up early this morning."

"Linus, that's your dislike every day," the raven haired girl holding hands with the blond points out.

Linus shrugs. "It's a viable complaint. Getting up at 6am is a school thing. Not a mental hospital thing."

Charlie Brown wonders if Dr. Kale is going to say something about these insults and complaints. But she just writes stuff down. Wonder what she's writing.

"I like the sky today," the blonde girl says, twirling her ponytail. "I dislike what Thursday told me to do this morning." Charlie Brown raises an eyebrow at Schroeder, but he just shakes his head. _Later _he mouths. This is going to be one hell of an explanation later.

"I like the grub at lunch," a boy says. "I disliked running into a wall this morning."

"Okay, let's get into partnerships! Pick someone, and not your roommate!" Says Dr. Kale

He looks over to Schroeder anxiously, who shrugs apologetically. His eyes sweep over the potential partners. Luckily (or unluckily, however you see it) the girl, Violet, swings her chair around in front of him, and sits cross-legged.

"Hey, New Kid," she says, smirking. Crap on a kebab, this girl is scary; she crosses her arms and purses her lips, eyes glaring in tight line.

"Hi. It's Charlie Brown, actually." He stares at his hands, suddenly fascinated at every little detail. "So, what do we do?"

"Well, since it's your first time, we talk about how we got here in the Asylum."

"Uh...you first," He says.

"Fine." Violet studies her nails and starts to sound bored as she talks. "I was a prostitute ever since I dropped out of high school. My ma had no idea, she just thought I was going to school then sleeping over at friend's houses. I wasn't one of those fishnet girls on street corners, though."

"Then what were you?" He asks. Did he even want to know?

"I was a club 'escort'. I got fake I.D, and scoped out on the bars. My boss would refer people to wherever I was if they needed my services." she grins like the Cheshire Cat when she says "services" it sends shivers crawling down his spine, and he licks his lips nervously. "Apparently, my job skills got so famous that I was wanted more and more. I would do anything, and people liked that. I even got a few chicks in there. Chicks pay double, and I eventually got enough saved up to buy more expensive shit. It was fucking great, until an undercover cop caught me, and I was arrested for underage prostitution. The judge decided that I was doing this because daddy was an abuser, and I had serious emotional scars. Not true, I just liked the sex." She gives him a huge wink, and Charlie Brown clutches the chair a bit tighter. "So they sent me here."

"Uh..." What the hell was he supposed to say to that?

"Five minutes up! Switch partners!" Dr. Kale says, breaking the conversation. Bless her. He sighs a breath of relief, and Violet blows a kiss to him before walking away. Oh, shit.

"Marcie Howe," one girl says, and sits in Violets previous chair. "What did she say to you to scar you for life?"

"She told me about being a prostitute," He says. Marcie bursts out laughing, slapping her knee and holding her chest. .

"That's an original one!" She says. "She told me she was a thief who became rich until her mom found all of the money."

He stares at her blankly, completely lost.

"She's a compulsive liar," Marcie explains. "That story she told you was completely false. She just likes to mess with the new kids."

"So when she told that girl Freida all of that mean stuff, she didn't mean it?" Matt asks.

"No, that's all true. Freida an be a real pain sometimes."

"Oh."

"Here, want me to give you the run-down on all of the kids here?" she asks.

"Sure, I guess."

"Well, here's what I know." she points at a pair. "Those two are Linus and Lucy. Their parents died in a car crash and they flipped out. Their grandma sent the two of them here."

"The kid with the crew cut is Shermy. He used to be really insecure because kids made fun of him in elementary school. He tried to be really cool, and go with all of the trends. He went from girl to girl, trying to feel good about himself, but they all cheated on him. I'm convinced he's gay." Marcie points over to Schroeder. "That's Schroeder, obviously. He's an incredible talented pianist. A prodigy, really. We don't know much about him, only that his Dad was not cool with his music. I think he tried to kill someone." He sends a worried look over at his roommate.

"And you?"

Marcie waves the question away. "Boring, really. I was bullied severely, and eventually got seriously injured. Was in rehab for several weeks, then was sent here."

"Why were you bullied?" he asks.

Marcie visibly flinches at the question, and inhales sharply. "Oh, nothing. Just Neanderthal idiocy, and the fear of non conformity, that's all."

"Oh." There's a feeling that Marcie's not telling his everything, but he quickly disregards it. It's none of his business, after all.

"Okay, that's all the time we have today!" Dr. Kale says. "Dismissed to the free room."

Everyone stacks the chairs, and Charlie Brown follows. Schroeder approaches him, a friendly smile on his face.

"How was it?" he asks.

"Well, let's just say you have a lot of explaining to do."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter two! Enjoy.**

* * *

><p>The "free room" was a large carpeted room, with the walls painted beige as well (are all therapy related places beige? Is this a thing?) and contains the following:<p>

A television (Quality: shitty)

A radio (signal: staticy)

Playing Cards (Usage: well worn, and with scribbled words on the back*)

Board Games (Fun Quality: the ones you find in grandmother's closet)

A bookshelf with, well, books. (Upon closer look: all of them are about self esteem)

And another piano.

Fun.

Violet immediately marches to the radio and flicks it on. Murder Taxi For Pretty blares on. Or maybe it's Death Cab for Cutie. Does it matter? Shermy turns on the TV to find George Lopez reruns, and pretty much all of the guys gather 'round, except for Schroeder, who goes off to the piano, the black-haired girl from before following (Lucy, he thinks). So much for his explanation. Charlie Brown spots a few beanbag chairs in the corner, and he sinks into one. He never really liked beanbag chairs, he could never lean back without lying down. This truly is prison, isn't it? Where the crazy come to sit all the time and amuse themselves with the other bat shit crazy patients.

He doesn't even notice that he's not alone until he hears a voice,

"Let me guess, Your roommate promised to tell you all about the Asylum, but instead ran off to go play piano while my sister stares adoringly at him?"

Linus settles down on the bean bag next to him, quickly introducing himself, even though its not really needed, then asks, "Still want that explanation?"

Charlie Brown nods, still trying to figure out how Linus had guessed exactly what was on his mind.

"Okay, here's the down low," Linus starts. The down low? Who says that anymore? "No smiling here. Absolutely none."

"Why not?" he asks.

"Because apparently murderers smile when their planning to kill." Linus shrugs. "This place is weird, trust me, I know."

"Okay..." Charlie Brown says, already knowing that the second he stepped inside.

"Any specific questions?" Linus asks.

"Uhhh..." Charlie Brown searches the room, and sees if there's anyone who stood out to him. "That girl. The blonde one, with the ponytail."

"Sally?" Linus offers.

"Yeah, her. She said something about Thursday telling her to do something."

"Oh. Sal's a schizophrenic."

"A skitzo fern whatsit?"

"Schizophrenic. Basically, she hears voices, named Thursday and 42, and they tell her to burn things and such."

"Uh...is there anyone slightly normal?"

Linus hums, looking around. "Uh...well. Not really. Lucy screams in her sleep, Marcie has mental breakdowns, Peppermint Patty throws things, Violet storms off, Frieda pulls her hair out, Sally starts to rock back and forth, and no one knows about Schroeder. He...just...twitches, and they take him into the detention room."

"What's the detention room?" Charlie Brown asks.

Linus rubs his neck. "It's a padded room."

"Is it all white and you have to wear a straight jacket?"

Linus laughs. "No, it's beige-"

"I knew it!"

"-and no jacket. You're allowed to scream, punch the walls, stomp, whatever. As long as you do not physically harm yourself. It's a stress reliever."

Huh. "Have you had to go in there?"

"Me?" He puts a hand on his chest. "I, was pretty much a resident there for my first two weeks."

""B-b-b-but you seem alright," Charlie Brown says, pulling his knees up to his chest.

"Ah, there's more than meets the eye," he says.

Some random doctor, with a stubble beard and sharp eyes, peeks in. "Dinner time. Line up."

Charlie Brown watches in confusement as boys and girls broke off and went into separate lines at the door. Linus without touching him, leads him to the boy's line.

"What's going on?" Charlie Brown whispers.

"Boys and girls take separate stairs to the cafeteria, prevents touching."

"Dude, what is up with this no-touching thing?" He asks.

"Well, let's just say we didn't have anyone breaking the rule until Shermy and Patty were found passionately playing tongue twisters in a staff bathroom."

"Uh..."

"And by tongue twisters I mean-"

"I know what you mean!" Charlie Brown cuts him off. "Are we still allowed to sit next to girls in the cafeteria?"

"Sure. But the seats are separated, and the cafeteria is monitored."

"Prisoners," He mumbles.

The squeaky clean hallway is short, with paintings of happy flowers on the walls. He wishes he had his school binder to hold tight to, because he might just have a panic attack. Why does this place need to be so clean? Are the janitors millionaires? Should he get in the business of janitorial work in asylums? Does it have insurance for health? Mental health? Questions, questions. They distract him from over thinking other things. Like how long he might be stuck in this place.

If Charlie Brown thought the hallways were clean, the cafeteria is completely sterile. And Blinding. White. Everything is white except for the food and the people.

"I know, it's hideous," Patty, who somehow appeared next to him, whispers. She probably saw his horrified face. White is his least favorite color. And that isn't racist, because he's not talking about skin.

Linus leads him to the wide window with the food tray thingy. People shuffled along it, getting clean, healthy food dumped on their plates. One little girl was crying in the corner, sitting on the ground, and there was a 10 year old sticking french fries up his nose.

"So, just like the school cafeteria, huh?" Charlie Brown jokes. Linus laughs, and gets them both a tray.

This was getting a little surreal.

The dinner is a skinless chicken breast and goldfish crackers. There are no knives, just plastic sporks. Sporks are evil, since they are neither spoon nor fork, and don't function like either. Charlie Brown already knows he's going to hate meal time.

The girls arrive as well, and they all crowd at one table. Charlie Brown's sitting between Schroeder and Violet. Actually, Marcie was about to sit next to him so she could sit next to Peppermint Patty, but Violet slid down.

"Hey, Newbie," she coos.

"It's Charlie Brown..." he whispers. Schroeder gives him a sympathetic look, but then turns back to the heated discussion the boys are having.

"Want me to show you how I worked as an 'escort'?" she asks. Charlie Brown's eyes widen, and he quickly picks up his tray and moves to the other side of the table.

Schroeder clears his throat. "We were all just talking about whether or not video games are art."

"They totally are!" Shermy buts in. "For example, the game Portal was totally a groundbreaking graphic design, and blew the perspective world."

"Video games are just for blasting stuff," Schroeder says. "Music is art. Video games, no."

"I don't even think music is. Only artwork is art, case closed," Franklin says.

"Super Mario Bros. is better than any DaVinci work," Pig-Pig jumps in.

"Halo is a valid argument for video games as art argument!" Linus says.

All of the girls simultaneously rolled their eyes at their argument, if that was even possible, except for Sally, who mumbled something like "the nintendogs bit me..."

"Charlie Brown, what do you think of this?" Linus asks. Charlie Brown freezes mid goldfish cracker. All male eyes are on him.

Crap.

On a kebab.

"Uh..." He swallows the food in his mouth. "Well, looking back in history, people really didn't like any new introductions to art. Impressionist art was considered filth, but now it's widely popular and respected. Same with pop and modern art. But people still only consider the 'old fashioned' art valid, and they do have a point. Whether people like it or not, new art forms are presented constantly, and after much argument, accepted. That doesn't mean you yourself has to like it, or categorize it as such. So...yeah." He quickly looks down at his tray.

Everyone blinked, even the girls. Then they shrugged, nodded, and went back to eating.

"Rerun would've agreed with me..." Pig-Pen mumbles.

"Impressive, newbie," Schroeder says in a low voice. "Never seen a new kid have a valid argument, they usually mumble something and/or have a freak out."

"Thanks," Charlie Brown says.

* * *

><p>After the horrifyingly average meal, Charlie Brown and Schroeder are back in their room, brushing their teeth.<p>

"So...who's this Rerun guy Pig-Pen mentioned?" Charlie Brown asks casually.

"Technically, we're not allowed to talk about him..." Schroeder says.

"Oh..." Charlie Brown mumbles.

Schroeder takes a step closer, and leans into his ear.

"But, I will tell you this: apparently, there is a way to commit suicide here. No one knows how it's done, but a certain someone, maybe mentioned earlier, maybe not, achieved it. As far as anyone is concerned, you have no idea that this person existed. And you will not, under any circumstances, mention that person to Linus or Lucy. Ever," Blaine whispers.

"Why are you whispering?" Charlie Brown whispers.

"I have no way to prove this, but this room may be tapped. Or I'm paranoid. Either way, I don't want to risk getting too many points taken away."

"What are points?" He asks, going to normal level sound.

"To put it simply, get points. Do well. Get enough points, and you get out of here. Don't get taken away points. Have your points lowered enough, and you're sent to the psycho ward."

"How many points is enough to get out?"

"No clue." Schroeder shrugs.

_**SLAM.**_

Charlie Brown spins towards the door. "What was that? Peppermint Patty?"

"No." Schroeder sighs. "You're about to see what Marcie does in her psycho state."

Yells and shouts come from the hallways. Schroeder opens the door and goes out there.

Charlie Brown shrugs, and starts to follow.

This place is just getting weirder and weirder.

There are papers scattered everywhere, and there's some broken glass.

"Why is this happening to me?" A voice asks. Marcie is in the fetal position on the middle of the floor. Security guards are ready to pounce at any moment. People are poking their heads out of their rooms, curious about the scene. Some regard this as a normal happening, but people like Sally and Freida are worried. Schroeder bites his lip, waiting to see what happens. Dr. Douche comes from a doorway, having a sympathetic mask on.

"Marcie, what's wrong?" Dr. Douche asks him.

"No, I don't want to talk to you, you ass!" Marcie shouts, burying her face in her lap. At least Charlie Brown's not the only one with a distaste for Dr. Douche.

"Marcie. What happened?" Peppermint asks, having just arrived on the scene.

"Not you either! Butt out!" Marcie calls. Peppermint Patty flinches, obviously hurt. Marcie's face is going red, but not with embarrassment. Charlie Brown recognizes it.

"Uh..." he says tentatively. "Marcie, I know it's hard. But you need to breathe."

"Why should I listen to you? You barely even know me!" Marcie says.

"True," he says. "But I do know what you're going through. You're forgetting to breathe."

"Fuck off!" Marcie shouts.

Charlie Brown doesn't flinch. "Marcie. Listen to me." He keeps his voice calm and cool.

Tears are streaming down Marcie's face. "It's so hard..." she chokes.

Dr. Douche is doing nothing except frantically writing notes on a pad. The security guards no longer see Marcie as a threat, so their shoulders are relaxed. Charlie Brown takes advantage of this, and takes steps towards Marcie, and places a hand on her shoulder.

"Inhale," he says.

"Don't want to..." Marcie whispers, but she inhales deeply.

"Exhale."

She obeys, and shudders out a breath.

"I have no idea what really happened to you, Marcie," He says. "But that's your decision to tell me. Whether you do or not, know that it's never going to get truly better. It isn't. You'll still have the pain." Charlie Brown sits on the floor next to her. "But whenever the pain is so strong you can't take it, you really just have to breathe."

Marcie swallows, and breathes more. "Okay...okay. I feel a little better." She looks up at him, eyes wet with tears. "H-how did you know that I needed to breathe?"

"Past experience," He says, shrugging.

People are starting to go back into their room. Schroeder lingers, not knowing what to do.

"What happened to you? How did you get here?" Marcie asks.

Charlie Brown pushes himself up, brushing off invisible germs.

"Let's just say...I forgot to breathe," he says, then walks back to the room. Schroeder raises an eyebrow, but follows him eventually. Leaving Marcie sitting on the floor, gawking.

"You're a natural at that," Schroeder remarks, closing the door behind them.

"Yeah...natural," he says, gulping hard, clenching his fists.

He squeezes his eyes shut.

Some things are better left in the mind.


End file.
